


A Bad Day With Coffee Is Better Than A Good Day Without It

by Trashcanakin



Series: Trash's 2020 Bingo Fills [2]
Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Coffee makes the world go round, Deaf Clint Barton, Human Disaster Clint Barton, In which Clint had a very bad day and Bucky makes it better...ish, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, Pre-Slash, boys being soft, probably OOC who knows not me haha
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-02-23 01:03:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23836594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trashcanakin/pseuds/Trashcanakin
Summary: Clint has a terrible, no good, day... Bucky tries to make it better.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Series: Trash's 2020 Bingo Fills [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1701709
Comments: 6
Kudos: 33
Collections: Bucky Barnes Bingo 2020, Clint Barton Bingo, Winterhawk Bingo





	A Bad Day With Coffee Is Better Than A Good Day Without It

**Author's Note:**

> Written for: 
> 
> BBB - B2 - Bucky/Clint  
> CBB - N5 - Coffee  
> WHB - N4 - Bucky makes clint coffee

⇸⋆⇸⇖☆⇗⇷⋆⇷

Bucky startled awake at the loud crash echoing through the walls of his home; heartbeat drumming so hard he could hear his blood pump. He sprang up, nearly tripping right out of bed due to the blankets that were tangled around his leg. Letting out an irritated groan, he quickly reached for the gun that he kept on his bedside table.

His sleep-addled brain and the panic over not knowing what could have caused the sound made it harder to process any rational thoughts, but he put both hands on the gun and took a step forward. The safety was on, but he was at the ready; as ready as he could be for being rudely torn from his slumber and not knowing what the fuck just happened. He took another small step and noted the coolness of the hardwood floor seeping into his left foot, but less his right; so he lost another sock in his sleep it would seem. His physical awareness was coming back;  _ good.  _

Inhaling deeply to calm his nerves, he shot a quick glance at the clock; five forty-seven am, then made his way to the bedroom door. His boxers were crooked and his hair resembled a swamp creature more than a human being; and he's pretty sure his eye bags had eye bags; but he continued on. Reaching for the doorknob and turning it slowly, he silently pushed the door open. Thank the Gods he oiled that squeaky hinge just a few nights ago, it's hard to sneak around in the night when your own house ousts you to the entire city block. Unfortunately, the floorboards didn't get the memo and he let out a barely audible hiss when they creaked loudly. 

Then he heard it, the sound of voice off in the distance; and though it was muffled and sounded somewhat similar to the teachers on that movie Sharon made him watch; he could no doubt hear that it was laced with frustration. Pivoting and walking over to the window, he peeked through the blinds and squinted to try and see through the dark. The sun had barely risen high enough to bring light into the world, but he could just make out the silhouette of a person. 

Ah, of course, his neighbor. The tall, beautiful, disaster of a man that Bucky definitely has  _ not _ been pining over since pretty much the day he'd moved in next door, because that would be  _ crazy.  _

Who cares that Mr. Tall, Blond, and Gorgeous came over unannounced to ask for sugar, because apparently his dog ate the rest of his on a slice of pizza; and though Bucky refrained from questioning the legitimacy of  _ that _ nonsense, the man's bright smile and twinkling eyes shot through Bucky like a harpoon. Who knew genuine gratitude could look so good on someone. Or the fact that he had a  _ habit _ of walking out to the mailbox in several shades of undress, looking like sex on legs. Especially the  _ one  _ time when he stumbled out the door in only a fluffy purple bathrobe, chest open so the midday sun caressed his skin, hair a tousled mess, and wearing only boxers that had, "Sup?" written on the front… Not that Bucky was looking, of course. It just so happens that the window in front of where he sits for his morning coffee was perfectly set up to see his neighbor's driveway. 

But yeah, who cares?

_ Definitely _ not Bucky.

Bucky shook his head and pulled his mind away from daydreaming about his neighbor's frustrating habits _—_ _ and,  _ no,  _ Bucky, we're sure he isn't doing it on purpose just to taunt you— _ bringing his focus back to real time; but before he had the chance to fully gather what it was he was looking at, another loud boom erupted and the morning sky lit up. Bucky ducked instinctively, but peered back through the blinds only to see his neighbor, Clint, sigh and just lay down on the ground right in the middle of his driveway. Apparently he has given up. 

To be honest, not surprising. Bucky isn't positive of what happened, but he  _ is _ able to note Clint's car that was crashed into a dumpster a few feet from the end of his driveway; which was now on fire… 

Bucky forced himself not to chuckle, because he just cannot  _ believe _ this man's terrible luck; and headed for the door. Clint could obviously use some help. He set the gun down on the counter as he passed by, no need to scare the man by looking like he was going out trigger happy for a duel at dawn. Lazily chucking his combat boots on and shoving the laces inside, not bothering to tie them; he tossed on his leather jacket and walked outside. If Clint can walk around in his underwear, so can Bucky. None of their other neighbors seemed to care anyways. 

When Bucky approached, Clint gazed up at him from the ground and simply groaned. And if Clint's eyes trailed up his frame a little slower than absolutely necessary, well, he didn't pay it any mind. 

Instead of asking if the man was alright _—_ because clearly, he  _ wasn't— _ Bucky simply whistled loud and obnoxiously before piping up, "Looks like you've had it rough, hard day at the office?" 

"Maybe I  _ like _ it rough, Barnes," he muttered, narrowing his eyes into an adorable scowl and leveling Bucky with the look. 

Oh, if the implications of  _ those _ words didn't shoot straight into places they  _ shouldn't. _

A low chuckle erupted from Bucky instead, "You need some help?" 

"Mentally or physically?" Clint said, huffing out a sigh and gazing back up at the sky. 

"Both?" Bucky began, then pivoted, "How 'bout coffee instead?" 

Clint didn't say anything, but the way his head snapped back to the other man, eyes wide and pleading, spoke enough. 

Bucky chuckled again, "Well, come on then. Can't stand out here all day," and then promptly turned around and started back for his own house. He knew Clint would follow… so long as coffee was on the table. 

"What's with that outfit?" Bucky heard the man call out. 

"Shuddap! I was in bed before you crashed into a dumpster." 

"That wasn't my fault!"

⇸⋆⇸⇖☆⇗⇷⋆⇷

Clint followed Bucky into his house, and realized that even though he'd gone over to ask for things a countless number of times, or had occasionally spoken to him over the surrounding fence; he's never actually been  _ inside. _ Which, he supposes is fair… Bucky's never been in his house either. 

Semantics. Whatever. 

He was trying to keep up his happy go lucky demeanor, but the weight of the previous day was really weighing on him. He'd been rudely awakened the morning before, and had been out literally the entire night on top of that. Sure, he's pulled all-nighters countless times before, that wasn't the issue; the  _ issue _ was that it was a terrible day. 

An extremely, awfully,  _ dreadfully,  _ terrible day.

Breathing out a sigh, he let his facade drop, mouth turning downward and the sheer exhaustion he was feeling filtered onto his face. He looked down at his ruined shirt; filthy, disgusting. He doesn't even remember what he had gotten on it, or how the hole appeared on the left side. His face contorted into a frown when he realized how the fabric was clinging to his skin, soaked through with  _ something _ . Or, a number of somethings. 

"...-int?" 

_ What? _ he thought.  _ Who? Oh yeah, Bucky!  _

His head snapped back to the other man, who had clearly been trying to get his attention for a solid minute. He probably would have heard him if it weren't for the ungodly annoying static crackling in his hearing aids. Definitely not because he was zoned out, of course. 

But the hearing aids… that is troublesome. He'll have to take them in to get them fixed now, too. 

Great. 

In lieu of a response, he simply pointed at his hearing aids; shaking his head  _ no,  _ and then taking them out. He knew Bucky didn't know sign language, so he would have to make due. Bucky's been secretly trying to learn though, not to Clint's knowledge; but he was still far from understanding most of it. Bucky didn't seem to mind anyways and nodded in understanding, turning and heading toward the kitchen. When he walked into the room, he was happy to see that the coffee maker was already brewing. 

Praise the Gods for automatic timers. 

Bucky came back out to find Clint looking down again, fidgeting with the hem of his ruined shirt. He looked pitifully sad, Bucky thought, and it caused a feeling to swell in him that he wasn't quite fond of. Walking back over to the man he reached for Clint's hands; stopping their ministrations and softly loosening their grip on the fabric. Clint's eyes raised to meet Bucky's, who was staring up at him so impossibly soft it sent a warm blanket of emotion through his chest. There wasn't any pity, or disgust, or humor… 

Why would Bucky be looking at him like  _ that? _

Bucky gently moved Clint's hands aside, keeping a loose hold on the fabric clutched in his own fingers. He kept his eyes locked with Clint's, lightly tugging on the man's shirt in invitation; searching for any hint of approval or discomfort.

Without really thinking, Clint just raised his arms up. Which, apparently, was what Bucky had been waiting for because he smiled tenderly and lifted the sorry excuse of a shirt up over his head. Bucky was a bit shorter than he was, and he had to raise up on his toes in order to pull the shirt off the rest of the way; which also caused the already small amount of space between them to become minuscule. Their chests were nearly touching. Bucky was focused on the shirt, but Clint was focused on Bucky. His brain elected to become hyper aware of the fact that the man was still dressed only in his boxers, boots, and a leather jacket. Unfortunate timing. 

_ Great Clint; He's trying to  _ help you _ and all you can think about  _ now _ is laying him down on the closest flat surface, and peppering him with kisses until he can feel your affection and gratitude on every inch of his body.  _

He swallowed thickly and shoved those treacherous thoughts  _ way  _ back. 

Bucky wasn't faring any better after the recollection of what he just did settled in. Funny how you don't think about something until you can feel hot breath on your face and it dawns that you just  _ took Clint's shirt off in your entryway, Bucky, what the fuck are you doing?  _

Bucky stepped back quickly, ignoring the way his heart skipped and the heat crawling up his neck. From embarrassment or attraction? Hard to say. He hoped he turned quickly enough that Clint hadn't seen the blush coating his face. Clearing his throat and steeling himself, he chucked the shirt into the wastebasket, it isn't like there was any salvaging it anyways, then turned back with a smile. He pointed down the hall and made a hand motion he  _ hoped _ looked like someone washing themselves in the shower. It wasn't actual sign language, but Clint seemed to get what he was trying to convey anyways; gracing Bucky with a nod and a warm smile, before setting off to wash away yesterday's grime. 

When Clint disappeared through the door, Bucky let out an exhale of breath he didn't even know he was holding. Going to his room, he grabbed some clothes he hoped would fit Clint, intending to leave them outside the bathroom door along with a couple clean towels he grabbed along the way. After thinking about it, he wasn't sure there were any clean ones left in the bathroom. 

_ Should have given him these  _ before _ sending him in there you idiot,  _ Bucky berated himself. 

⇸⋆⇸⇖☆⇗⇷⋆⇷

Clint showered quickly, trying desperately hard not to think about being in Bucky's shower at all; and especially trying not to think about the fact that he  _ smells _ like Bucky now. It wasn't until he began stepping out that he discovered a problem. He was soaking wet with no towels and no clothes… does he put his dirty pants back on? That would just defeat the purpose of a shower, but he can't just walk out of there with the family jewels dangling out on display. He decided to chomp down his embarrassment and call for Bucky, what's the worst that could happen anyways? He'd just add another tally on his list of things that have gone horribly wrong in the past twenty-four hours. But upon trying to crack the door and looking down to see what it was that was blocking it from opening, an audible crack of incredulous laughter escaped him. 

_ God, Bucky was amazing! I could just kiss him,  _ Clint all but internally moaned; snatching the clothes and towels Bucky folded and stacked neatly outside the door for him. A few moments later, he made his way back out and Bucky gestured for him to take a seat on the sofa; which he did so happily, slumping down hard with the full weight of yesterday's exhaustion. 

"Here," Bucky said in a hushed tone; not that the volume of his voice mattered much with Clint's hearing aids being gone; but Clint noticed his presence anyways as he rounded the couch, looking up at him with tired eyes. 

It was only a little strange, looking down at the man; what with Clint towering a half a foot over him _—_ not that Bucky was  _ complaining,  _ of course _—_ but nevertheless, it wasn't something he was used to. Clint peered up at him with those gorgeous blue eyes, looking too close to utterly defeated, his hair still a disaster even though it was clean. 

And bucky thought not for the first time that he was rather cute. 

But now was not the time for that. 

Bucky smiled gently and offered up one of the mugs to Clint, who took it gladly, bringing it to his lips and inhaling a deep breath. A moan escaped him. There just wasn't anything better than the aroma of freshly made coffee. If he wasn't so damn exhausted, he might have had the energy to feel ashamed. Smiling up at Bucky, he nodded in thanks before taking a few gulps of the brew. 

Sitting down next to Clint, Bucky turned to ask if he was okay and if he needed anything else, but Clint looked more than halfway passed out already; so he left to get the man an extra blanket instead. He looked completely drained, and if he needed to sleep on Bucky's sofa, that was perfectly fine with him. In the short amount of time it took for him to gather the blanket from the spare closet, Clint had fallen asleep, so Bucky tucked him in and let him be. 

They could talk later. 

⇸⋆⇸⇖☆⇗⇷⋆⇷

**Author's Note:**

> So... the ending to this isn't at all what I had originally planned... but I have been so unmotivated for literally anything the past few weeks, I just said heck with it and did this instead. The Clint bingo ends today, so I couldn't hold it off in hopes to get my muse back any longer, haaaaa. 
> 
> As it stands right now, I left this fic as 1/2 chapters, because if I can swing it, I may add a second chapter and continue with what I had originally planned; but I'm also unsure if I will.


End file.
